Chapter Text
The coast is enveloped in a storm when Thor steps through the portal sometime after nightfall. Not a single speck of starlight pierces the mass of clouds, dark like a fresh bruise, the roar of the sea almost deafening as it beats against the high cliffs.
Rain or shine, it makes their task no easier.
“It is done?” Sif asks, foregoing formal greetings as she walks up to the portal. “I was expecting you at sundown.”
“Aye, Stark and Potts were there to help finalize the deal. Well, mostly Potts. Turns out these mortals have a taste for bureaucracy, but this land belongs to Asgard now and we are free to use it as we see fit.”
“And you mean for us to begin tonight? In this weather?” Sif wipes a strand of wet hair from her cheek and cocks her brow at Thor, fat drops of rain chinking against her breastplate.
“Don’t give me that look,” Thor snorts. “This storm is not of my making.”
“Are you certain? The skies around you have been overcast more often than not these past few years…” She catches herself and falls quiet, her eyes apologetic. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean-”
Thor gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but his smile is stained with familiar melancholy. “There is nothing to forgive. And you're right, the weather has often reflected my moods. It’s been that way since I was a boy.”
“Aye, I remember you once ruined my new training leathers with a sulky downpour when I bested you on Tyr’s obstacle course four times in a row.”
“First of all, it was two times,” Thor corrects, holding up two of his fingers, his expression a little sheepish. “And secondly, I apologize for the ruined leathers.”
Sif rolls her eyes at Thor, the familiar banter between them both a salve and a bittersweet reminder of a more carefree time neither of them can relive.
She glances over Thor’s shoulder and nods at the open portal and the empty conference room at the other end. “You should probably close that before the Norwegian government charges us for water damage.”
Thor snorts and tightens his grip around Stormbreaker’s sturdy shaft. He beats the axe against the ground to close the portal and gives Sif a wink as he points the uru head towards the sky. The winds around them relent at Thor’s command and the clouds part to reveal a dark canvas of stars, the bellow of the sea below them calming to a gentle murmur.
Thor tugs at the sleeve of his Midgardian coat and dabs the cloth against Sif’s cheek. “Better?”
“Better,” Sif nods. She is fair still, but her long travels across the realms have aged her, the bloom of youth gone too soon and replaced by the same loss and bone-deep weariness Thor knows well, for it sticks to them both like tar.
Thor looks up at the bright flash of light above their heads and his mouth curves into a broad smile when the sky tears open with another portal.
Brunnhilde rides through on her flying steed, the only one of its kind left in the universe. She lands on the clearing and hops off the saddle with graceful efficiency, her dark braids swinging over her chest plate as she greets them with a small bow. She gives her horse a treat from her belt before sending it away, and the beast’s large wings beat against the air as it takes off and disappears through the portal.
“How are our people?” Thor asks, eager for news. He hasn’t yet had a chance to be the leader he hopes to be, for the fight against Thanos was long and taxing, but his worry over the remaining Aesir has been a constant weight on his shoulders these past few years.
“They’re fine, Majesty. Some choose to remain on Vanaheim, at least for now, but I've managed to keep most of the families together. The local government here has provided them with suitable accommodations, but they’re eager to finally have a place to call home.”
Nothing can ever replace the celestial beauty of old Asgard, but they need a proper place to grow roots and start anew.
“A home they shall have,” Thor nods, eyeing the empty landscape. “We begin tonight and I vow not to rest until every family has a roof over their heads.”
He walks around the rain-soaked field and Sif and Brunnhilde follow on his heels exchanging puzzled looks. Thor cannot blame them for their skepticism, for the view of the northern sea is quite pleasant, but everything else about the location is wholly unremarkable.
And still there is something here. He can feel it pulse in the air, and his skin tingles like it used to whenever he watched his mother and Loki practice seiðr.
Whatever is hidden in this spot of land is more ancient than the earth beneath their boots or the rock formations that rise in the distance like jagged teeth. Thor looks down and smiles when his artificial eye catches the familiar sight of Bifröst runes, perhaps centuries old, illuminated by the faint glow of magic from his portal.
A good sign, he hopes.
Sif drops down to a crouch and yanks a clump of grass from the soggy ground, her brow furrowed as she lets the dirt crumble in her fingers. “The ground here seems fertile, but we’re on the outskirts of Midgard... Are you certain this is a suitable place to rebuild?”
Thor stares into the distance, a memory of a hasty farewell on the cliffside flashing before his eyes. The pain of it is more distant but no less intense than it was when he watched his father’s spirit depart for Valhalla.
He recalls nights aboard the Statesman before all went to ruin, his brother’s solid weight pressed against his side as they lay in bed, voicing tentative plans for a new, better Asgard, one that wasn’t built on blood-stained valor.
“You remember the place where we last saw our Father? That is where we’ll go, if we ever reach Midgard, and there we’ll dig deep and start anew.”
Loki’s cryptic words and his choice of a building site are still a mystery to Thor, for he remembers the deep loathing his brother harbored for Midgard, but Odin, too, called this spot of land home.
“Majesty?”
Thor blinks at the light jostle Brunnhilde gives to his shoulder and forces his mind back into the present, for now is not the time to be distracted by ghosts of the past.
“Aye, this is the place. You said it yourself, Sif, the ground is fertile here and our people have a history in these lands,” he says, and points to the Bifröst runes.
He makes no mention of Loki’s part in the plan, but both Sif and Brunnhilde watch him with knowing eyes as he walks to the edge of the cliff and whispers a quiet prayer to his family in Valhalla.
“Mother, Father… Loki.” His voice breaks and he swallows the quiet sob that strains in his throat. “Lend me your strength and guide my hand, give me wisdom of both heart and mind, and help me make our people proud.” He fills his lungs with salty air and looks over his shoulder, beckoning his friends to join him. “Are you ready?”
“Ready, Majesty,” Brunnhilde nods. She pulls Dragonfang out of its sheath and holds her sword aloft.
“Always,” comes Sif’s solemn reply as she presses her double-bladed sword against Valkyrie steel.
Thor’s smile is grateful and soft around the edges even as his eyes begin to glow with the storm that stirs in his blood. “Thank you for doing this with me.”
He lifts Strombreaker and strikes the head against the two swords, the resulting sound so loud that the earth beneath their boots trembles.
“Now, we dig deep!”
The air crackles with electricity as Thor uses their combined weapons to conjure and harness a massive bolt of lightning from the cloudless sky.
Sif and Brunnhilde grit their teeth and dig their heels into the dirt, but their arms remain steady, their resolve as strong as Thor’s as they follow his lead and whip the electric bolt directly into the empty field of grass.
The ground splits open in a massive blast of dust and singed earth, and they all stare at the wisps of magic that begin to swirl in the air. The smell of ozone and electricity is thick enough to taste, and the rumble of thunder continues to roll down the open plains as the dust settles to reveal a small crater. In the bottom sits a pool of primordial void, unearthed by their joined efforts.
Sif lowers her sword and shakes her head in disbelief. “Is that…”
“A drop of Ginnungagap, aye,” Thor nods, the storm in his eyes dimming. He jumps down into the crater and approaches the small pool, hidden since the days of creation, the starlight above their heads reflected on the smooth, black surface.
“That’s more than a drop,” Brunnhilde notes as she slides down to join him, her face alight with excitement. “With this, we can build anything! An Asgard more glorious than even the gaudy, gilded, halls of the Allfather.” She cocks her brow and shoots Thor a sheepish smile. “I mean, no offense, but the giant statues and murals of bloody conquests weren’t really my style.”
“There will be no more bloody conquests in the name of Asgard,” Thor agrees.
He feels his blood thrum with pure, untapped potential, and Loki’s cryptic words finally make sense. He recalls the stories Heimdall used to tell him about creation and how the realms first came to be, but he had no idea that remnants of the yawning void still existed, and on Midgard of all places.
Sif kneels by Thor’s side and studies her reflection, the surface of the pool as still as glass. “Do you know how to harness its power?”
Thor gives his axe a playful spin. “I suppose we’ll find out.”
Sif frowns, her eyes lingering on the tendrils of magic that continue to rise from the pool. “Thor… This thing is ancient, even older than the oldest Celestial. There’s no knowing what you might conjure into existence if you fail to use it correctly.”
Thor nods, for he shares her apprehension, but he has to believe that Loki sent him here for a reason. He knows the whole thing would be easier if his brother were by his side, guiding him through whatever it is he’s about to do, but Loki is lost to him and all that remains are wistful dreams, whispered in the dark of night.
“I thank you for your counsel, but I don’t know what other choice we have. We can’t build brick by brick if we want our people to have a home in the next two centuries.”
“I agree,” Brunnhilde nods. “The people of this realm are kind and understanding of our plight, but we can’t leech on their generosity and good will forever.”
Sif heaves a deep sigh. “Very well.” She cups Thor’s cheek and runs the calloused fingers of her blade hand through his thick beard. “Brunnhilde and I will watch over you while you work, and if you need anything, you’ve only to ask.”
Thor clasps her neck and presses their brows together, the love and loyalty Sif has always shown him both humbling and empowering. “Thank you, Sif. I’m glad you’re still with me.”
“As am I, dear friend.”
Thor does what feels right, and he undresses and wades into the dark pool with his axe in hand. He has a brief, blood-chilling thought that he might fall through, for it is an essence of nothingness, but the void is not deep, reaching no higher than his chest. It is hotter than he expected, though, and thick like honey when it comes into contact with his limbs.
He has no spell or word of power in mind, but it appears he doesn’t need one, for the process of creation simply begins because he wills it so.
Stormbreaker works as a conduit for the energy Thor draws from the elements around him: earth, water, air, the fire he conjures from the sky, they all contribute to his undertaking.
He remembers his home well, but the Asgard of his creation is no imitation of what came before, and there are no gilded statues of his forefathers, no lofty spires or vast halls bursting with empty grandeur.
The first thing he creates is a quiet garden that he fills with rippling streams and little white flowers his mother used to weave into her hair. He cannot recall their name, but he remembers their scent well, and perhaps a stroll through the garden every once in a while will ease the longing in his heart.
The buildings he creates start out a little rough around the edges, but they grow more stable as he works and he likes their look. He builds with a mixture of wood, stone and sturdy metal, keeping his designs simple but not so much that things become austere. Rustic, his brother might have called it, for Loki’s tastes were always more lavish.
He cannot replace what was lost in the fires of Surtur's mighty sword, but Thor gives their healers and astronomers and scholars proper places to practice their crafts, their technology still miles ahead of anything made on Midgard, save perhaps for Wakanda.
Time passes as he works, and Sif and Brunnhilde bring him sustenance every three days, but the longer he creates, the wearier he begins to feel. He fills empty spaces with evergreen trees, lush fields with bountiful harvests and small lakes full of fish. A month into his task, Thor creates a mead hall in his father’s honor, and he thinks of his fallen friends as he conjures a small wood on the southern edge of the land in memory of all the happy hunting trips of their youth.
The pool is nearly empty as he considers the city that now rises on a separate plane above them, smaller than the Asgard that came before, but with plenty of room for their people to grow and thrive.
His strength has waned considerably in the past few days, but Thor still has not created a single thing in Loki’s honor.
His thoughts linger on his brother almost day and night, the loss of him so heavy in his heart that Thor can barely draw breath as he slumps down on his hands and knees, what little strength remained in him dwindling.
Nothing he can create will ease the anguish rooted in his soul and would only serve to remind him of his bitter loss, for there is nothing he wants more than his brother by his side, whole and hale. His brother, who for so many centuries was much more than that, who shared all his pleasures in life and who made him laugh with his clever tongue and sharp wit. They fought, aye, especially towards the end, but there was never true hatred in Thor’s heart.
“Loki…” Thor sobs, the word barely leaving his lips as the pool drains him of his remaining power, the last of the black void evaporating in a wisp of smoky seiðr.
Stormbreaker falls from his hand with a heavy thud and Thor collapses on the bottom of the now empty pool, roots and small rocks digging into his back as his consciousness begins to waver.
There’s a voice in his head, faint, like it’s coming from another plane.
“Find me.”
Thor blinks, but his vision swims and his lids feel like steel.
“Find me, brother!”
“Loki?”
“Thor! Are you alright?”
Someone is shaking him, dragging him to the edge of the empty pool. There’s a blurry figure above him and he reaches up to touch the dark hair that hangs loose over two narrow shoulders.
“Loki?”
“What? No, Thor, it’s Sif.”
“Are you alright, Majesty?” Brunnhilde asks, squeezing Thor’s shoulders as their faces finally come into focus.
“Come, we must get you out of this damned hole and into bed. You require rest,” Sif says, her voice and face grim with worry. “Can you walk?”
Thor shakes his head. His spirit is weak and his legs feel like they’re made of wet clay. “Is it done?” he asks as Brunnhilde and Sif each throw a muscled arm over their shoulders and drag him to his feet.
“Aye, it’s done, Majesty, and it’s bloody wonderful,” Brunnhilde laughs, her ecstatic face the last thing Thor sees before he sinks into a deep state of unconsciousness.
He sleeps through most of the summer while Sif and Brunnhilde watch over their people in his stead. They settle into their new home and Sif fills him in on the news whenever she visits his bedside in the rooms Thor has built for himself.
He can’t answer her in his Thorsleep, but she knows he can hear her and she reassures him that all is well with the families that remain, even if many of them were broken when Thanos and his Order attacked their vessel.
“The streets still feel a bit empty and the taverns are only half-full on most nights, but the tanner’s wife is already expecting, and Fulla says it’ll be twins.” Thor sees and hears his friend sharpen her sword in his dream, sitting next to the shimmering forcefield that spread across his bed. “Brunnhilde has begun to train a small group of girls who aspire to join the ranks of the new Valkyries, but I’m sure you already keep an eye on the training grounds,” Sif smirks.
And she is not wrong, for Thor’s mind wanders in his sleep. He watches as his people slowly begin to rebuild what was lost, holding onto old traditions even as they take care not to repeat past mistakes.
The coast is quiet and secluded, the nearest town miles away, and their relations with Midgard remain amiable, Thor’s part in the Infinity War and everything that led up to it well-known. Most of his focus remains on Asgard, but he watches the new Avengers and those few who remain of his old comrades from time to time. There will always be unrest in the realms and the vast star systems between them, but things have remained in relative balance after Thanos’ defeat, and it appears Earth’s heroes aim to keep it that way even without Thor and his axe in their ranks.
The summer is nearing its end when Thor’s dreams begin to grow strange.
One night, there’s a dark-haired boy in his dream, walking down a narrow street, the walls of the surrounding buildings painting him in long shadows. Thor feels a new urgency in his subconscious, as if something is compelling him to act, though he’s not sure what he’s meant to do.
“Find me!”
It’s a few nights before the boy returns and this time Thor can make out half of his profile as he sits huddled inside an empty train car somewhere on Midgard. There’s something familiar about the way he holds himself, narrow shoulders hunched, face framed by dark curls.
He looks young.
The boy startles when someone approaches, and the dream fades just as Thor sees him rush out of the train car and run away from a bright beam of lamplight.
Thor feels uneasy in his sleep, but he continues to slumber, his body not yet recovered.
“Find me!”
The boy keeps drifting in and out of his dreams, sometimes nothing more than an elusive figure at the edge of his mind. He wears baggy shirts and ripped jeans as he stalks from street corner to street corner, skittish like a doe in the wild, ready to flee from unseen foes. Thor catches him in strange company from time to time, in empty car parks and quiet alleyways where quick hands exchange something before the boy darts off, disappearing into the night.
Thor only ever sees him from a distance, but he knows there’s something familiar about him, recognition just beyond his grasp.
The dream he has tonight feels different from the moment it begins, more tangible. Thor can almost smell the food from the small tavern in the street corner, and the sounds of the passing cars are loud in his ears. The boy tucks his unkempt hair behind one ear and stares down at the Stark Phone in his hand, spindly fingers tapping furiously.
He wrinkles his nose at something and glances up at a group of girls who approach him, and the bright green of his eyes steals Thor’s breath away. The shape of his mouth and the slope of his dark brows, they’re not quite the same as before, but Thor knows them, knows him.
“Loki!”
He blinks at his surroundings and his legs fidget under the thick blankets. The forcefield around his bed vanishes with his movement and Thor is hit with a momentary bout of stiffness as his muscles struggle to shake off the long months of disuse.
His heart beats like a stampeding bilgesnipe against his ribs and his tongue feels thick in his mouth, but he is out of bed by the time Sif and Brunnhilde rush into his chambers.
“Thor! You’re awake!” Sif exclaims, her face the picture of joy as she reaches out to embrace him.
“Your presence has been sorely missed, Majesty,” Brunnhilde grins, more reserved in her greeting.
Thor’s heart rejoices at the reunion, but his mind is elsewhere and he pulls away from the embrace to hasten to his study. He opens the newly-installed holonet and pulls up a map of Midgard. The space above his desk fills with a large holographic image of the realm.
“Thor, what are you doing?” Sif asks, rushing into the room after him, visibly puzzled. “You’re barely out of your first Thorsleep, you should take it easy. Bathe and fill your belly with food at least.”
Brunnhilde walks into the room in Sif’s tow, her eyes narrowing as she turns them on the map. “Are you searching for something?”
Sif’s face grows alarmed at the question. “Is something wrong? Is there some new threat?”
“No, no, everything is alright,” Thor assures, narrowing down his search as he recalls specific details from his dreams. Street signs, accents, names of establishments. “It’s just that I…” He turns to look at Sif, unable to hide his excitement. “I think Loki might be alive.”
Sif blinks at him and her face twists to bewildered alarm. Even Brunnhilde looks at him with barely concealed worry.
“Thor… Your brother’s been gone for years. You know as well as I do that he isn’t coming back, not this time.”
Thor nods and swipes through the map, jumping from city to city. “I know, and I wouldn’t believe it either, not if I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes as my mind wandered in my dreams.”
Brunnhilde seats herself on the edge of the table and eyes the map as Thor expands it to a more detailed view of the city of London. “Alright, let’s say he’s back. How do you suppose he managed it? Even Loki cannot lie his way out of the afterlife, not without outside aid.”
Thor scratches at his ungroomed beard and considers the possibilities. It wouldn’t be the first time his brother has managed to cheat death, but his last passing did feel different. And the Loki he saw in his dreams was not the Loki who perished with half of their people.
“The void of creation…” Thor murmurs as he thinks back to his final moments in the whirlpool. “I must have brought him back,” he gasps, his mind reeling at the notion.
“Stranger things have happened and I’ve lived long enough to see a great number of them with my own eyes,” Brunnhilde snorts, cocking her brow at Thor. “So you think your brother is back in a new body?”
Thor nods, his gaze darting between his own hands and the axe that rests on a pedestal across the room. “I think he’s been reborn.”
The mere thought of having Loki back makes his remaining eye well with tears and he allows their salty trails to stain his cheek even as his mouth spreads into a smile, the ache in his muscles lifting with relief.
Sif points at the map above their heads, her face illuminated by bright holographic lights. “And you’re saying he’s there? In London? What is he doing there?”
Thor thinks of the boy in his dreams, dressed in rags and sleeping in empty train cars. “I do not know, but I aim to find him and bring him home.”
“Home? You mean here, in Asgard? Thor… Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Thor takes no offense at Sif’s doubting words, well-aware of the troubled past she shares with Loki. “I know you and Loki have rarely seen eye to eye, but you weren’t there to see the change in his heart in those final few months we spent together after our home was destroyed.” He closes the map and crosses his arms over his chest, his mind set. “I love my brother and I miss him beyond compare. I must have him by my side.”
Brunnhilde exits the conversation and leaves the room without another word, but Sif continues to stare at Thor, her face shifting through a myriad of expressions. Thor knows she worries for him and he’s grateful for it, but this is something he must do, with or without his friend’s support.
Sif blows out a quiet breath, the look on her face finally settling on resigned but understanding. “Very well. No one ever could change your mind about Loki and I suppose no one ever will.” She takes his hands in her own and gives it a light tug. “But you must break fast with me before you leave. You’ve no idea how scrawny you’ve become in your sleep.”
“Scrawny?” Thor echoes, and pretends to look insulted as he flexes one of his biceps.
“Aye, you’re lucky Tyr’s obstacle course was not among the things you conjured from that pool of ooze.”
The memories Thor has of his dreams are vague, all except the last one, and he’s able to locate the tavern with the spicy-smelling food fairly quickly.
He conceals his axe as an umbrella, for the trick worked once before, and dons a simple Midgardian outfit to blend in. He’ll always stand out with his height and bulk, but at least people don’t swarm him to request he pose in their portraits or sign his name on random objects.
He enters the diner just before rush hour and watches the street until closing time, but there’s no sign of his brother. He tries again the next night and the night after that, but still his brother makes no appearance.
Thor ends up playing the waiting game for three whole weeks and the staff at the tavern have begun to think he’s a new regular, greeting him with friendly smiles and free refills. The food is excellent and properly greasy, and he already regrets knowing that he most likely won’t return after he manages to collect his brother.
He’s on his second serving of bangers and mash when his gaze finally lands on a familiar figure just outside the neon-lit window and he drops his fork on his plate with a clatter, too busy gaping at his brother to even notice the alarmed looks around him.
Loki hops on a dumpster, knees exposed through the ripped holes in his jeans, lean legs swinging back and forth as he pulls out his phone and begins to tap.
Thor is up on his feet so fast that his chair threatens to topple and he drops a wad of Midgardian currency on the counter, the owner’s shocked cries of gratitude following him out the door. It’s not until he’s standing in the middle of the busy street that he realizes he has no real plan. He’s been so focused on the thought of bringing Loki home that he has no idea what to actually say to him or if his brother will even recognize him. And what if Loki doesn’t want to come home? What if he puts up a struggle and runs off?
Thor shakes the thoughts from his head and squares his shoulders as he begins his approach, aware that he'll likely only have this one chance to bring his brother home.
Loki doesn’t notice him at first, too busy staring at his Stark Phone, half of his face hidden behind his hair. There's a knit cap on his head, but he shivers in the cool September night, the outfit he wears much too light for the season.
Thor has never been good at determining how mortals age, for time is a wholly different concept for Midgardians, but he can tell his brother is considerably younger than he was when Thor last saw him, and it is a strange sight, for Thor was only ever a few centuries older. And now, by some strange twist of fate, he’s a grown man while his brother has yet to reach the peak of youth.
Loki finally looks up from his phone. He arches a dark brow at Thor, the expression familiar even on his unfamiliar face. “Whatcha looking at?” He hops off the trash can and shoots Thor an appraising look. “You’re not my contact… Or maybe you are, but you don’t really look like the type who’s here for a Gucci handbag.”
“What?” Thor sputters, for he has no idea what Loki is talking about. His stomach feels like it’s full of lead as he realizes that his brother doesn’t appear to recognize him.
“Well? Are you here for the bag or not?” Loki snaps. His eyes dart left and right, the gaze in them alert, and his whole posture turns guarded. “You’re not a copper, are you?”
“No I’m not a copper. I just, I just wish to speak with you.” Thor steps closer and Loki recoils, the trash can behind him falling with a clatter. Worried that his brother might flee, Thor uses the moment of distraction to close the distance between them and takes a hold of Loki’s wrist, mindful of his strength.
“Hey, hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
“I don’t have time to explain, not here. You must come with me,” Thor says, his chest tight with mounting urgency as he glances around and sees the curious stares they’re attracting.
“Come with you?! Are you crazy?” Loki’s eyes are wide with alarm and his shoes scrape against the cracked asphalt as he struggles to free himself from Thor’s grip. “Let me go! I’ll scream if you don’t!”
Thor knows he has to act fast. He tightens his hold on Stormbreaker’s concealed hilt and strikes the axe against the pavement to open a portal further down in the alley. The air crackles as the power of the Bifröst creates a window between the brick wall and the backdoor of the tavern, and Loki does finally scream when Thor grabs him by his narrow waist and flings him over his shoulder, rushing them into the portal.
They land in Thor’s chambers and Thor hurries to tap Stormbreaker against the floor, ignoring the way Loki pummels his back with his fists as he squirms in his hold, his skinny feet kicking the air.
Once the way back to London is sealed, Thor puts his brother down on the bed and holds up his hands. He knows he must look imposing, but he attempts to sound as unthreatening as possible as he seats himself on the edge of the bed.
“Calm yourself, everything is alright, I mean you no harm.”
“Calm myself?! You’ve just kidnapped me!” Loki shrieks. He crawls away from Thor, his eyes almost bulging out of his head as he stares at him in an utter state of shock. “Who the hell are you?”
Thor frowns at the complete lack of recognition on his brother’s face. He really could have handled this better, but there isn’t much he can do to make things worse now, and he holds out his hand to summon his armor.
Loki draws in a sharp breath as Thor’s battle gear knits together piece by piece. He whips his head left and right and stares at his surroundings. “You’re- you’re one of those aliens! I’ve seen you in my dreams.” Loki shakes his head as he catches his words and he hurries to correct himself “No, on the news! It must have been on the news,” he insists, visibly shaken. "Seriously, what the hell do you want from me?"
Thor decides that the best course of action now is to simply tell the truth.
“I am Thor, son of Odin, King of New Asgard. And you...” He steps forward and reaches out to clasp Loki's shoulder. “You are Loki, child of Laufey and adopted son of Odin and Frigga.” He cups Loki’s cheek and Loki allows it, too shocked to struggle. “You are my brother, born anew, and I have brought you home.”
Loki shakes his head. His cheeks are wet with tears and more continue to fall as he lets out a stunned laugh. “You’re crazy.” He finally smacks Thor’s hand away and his brows pull together in anger. “You’re lying! My name isn’t Loki! My name is-” He blinks and his mouth hangs open as he strains to remember. “My name is…”
Thor’s heart aches to see his brother struggle with realization, his brief life among the mortals already colliding with his true self. “I fear you’ve lost your memories, brother, but I can bring them back."
Thor removes the illusion on Stormbreaker and Loki snarls at him when he climbs onto the bed, backing away until he’s pressed against the massive headboard. He stares at Thor like a cornered animal, his chest rising and falling so fast that Thor fears he might pass out. He knows he has no other choice but to force the lost memories back to the surface and he pulls Loki into his arms, careful not to hurt him as he sets his axe between them and wraps Loki’s hand around the hilt.
Loki continues to struggle and he's about to bite Thor's wrist, but the seiðr that flows through the axe makes him jolt and freeze. It taps into Thor’s memories and he feels raw and exposed as they begin to travel to Loki’s consciousness, for within every memory is also a myriad of emotions and his cheeks grow wet with tears as centuries of shared moments flash before their eyes. Loki is limp in his arms and Thor cradles him against his chest as his brother, too, begins to sob.
He had Loki by his side for over a thousand years, and all the joy and pain of their shared centuries flows between them as the axe pulses with seiðr. All the love, brotherly and forbidden, all the tragedy and loss that met them in the last few years of Loki’s life is now shared with his newborn form.
His brother trembles like a leaf, overwhelmed by the flood of knowledge and emotions, and when it’s all over, when the glow of seiðr around them begins to fade, Loki looks up at Thor and there’s finally recognition in his eyes.
He blinks slowly, his expression stunned. “Thor?”
“Aye, it’s me.” Thor strokes his fingers over Loki’s tear-stained cheek, his chest swelling with gentle affection. “I’ve brought you home.”
Loki continues to stare at him, the corner of his mouth curling up just as his eyes flutter closed and he falls unconscious in Thor’s arms.
“Rest now, brother,” Thor murmurs. He tucks Loki under soft blankets and removes the hat on his head to run his fingers through his tangled hair. He’s bird-boned and beautiful as ever, his lashes dark against the pale complexion of his cheeks, and Thor wonders if the visage on this new vessel hides cobalt blue like the one that came before it.
He can’t even begin to fathom how his brother came into existence, if it was Thor’s own selfish desire to have him back, or if it is simply in Loki’s nature to be reborn time and time again.
Three times Thor mourned him, and he nearly lost his own will to live in the years that followed, consumed by nothing but thoughts of revenge and destruction. He leans over to press his lips to Loki’s brow and the storm in his heart finally relents, for his brother is back where he belongs.
Thor is barely through his first official task the following morning when Sif comes marching into his study, the cadence of her steps telling Thor he might be in some manner of trouble.
“I see you’ve returned,” Sif notes sharply, and yes, Thor is definitely in trouble.
“Yes, I returned last night.” Thor closes the open holonet tabs above his desk and gives Sif his full attention. “Is something the matter?”
Sif arches her brows at him and Thor recognizes the familiar twitch in her eye, which means she’d probably box his ears if he wasn’t king, and it wouldn’t be the first time either.
“Not anymore, for I’ve been in contact with Potts and Hill. The three of us managed to clean up your mess, though it wasn’t easy when news outlets all over Midgard were bursting with unflattering headlines about Asgardians kidnapping people in plain sight.”
“What?”
Sif holds up the Stark Pad in her hand and pulls up a video file. It’s shaky, likely shot with a phone from inside the tavern or across the street, but everyone can see Thor carry a seemingly innocent teenager through an interdimensional portal like a stolen wench.
“Uh…” Thor scratches at his cheek, feeling like a scolded child under Sif’s stern gaze.
“The mortals are grateful for all you’ve done for them over the years, but we cannot afford such bad publicity if we aim to coexist with them.”
“Sif, I had no choice,” Thor says, a little defensive. “He was going to flee, I had to act fast or I would have lost him.”
Sif closes the pad and crosses her arms over her chest plate. Her gaze wanders around the room and lands on the closed door of Thor’s bedchamber. “Is he in there?”
“Yes, he is, but he’s been asleep since last night. All of his memories were gone and the process of recovering them was taxing on him.”
“Can I see him?”
Thor nods and leads Sif into his bedroom. The windows are covered with thick velvet drapes and he lights one of the amber lamps at his bedside.
Sif lets out an audible gasp and her hand flies up to her mouth as she stares at Loki’s reincarnated form. “Norns… He’s so young.” She reaches out to brush her knuckles against Loki’s cheek, her touch gentle. “I-I cannot believe it. You really did bring him back.” She pulls her hand back when Loki threatens to stir, his nose wrinkling as he shifts under the sheets. “He must have been on Midgard since spring. What was he doing all this time?”
Thor’s face darkens as he wonders about Loki’s mortal existence. “I believe he was living on the streets. He did have a Stark Phone, but I suspect it was stolen, for they cost a hefty sum.”
“Well, I’m not surprised, if he simply popped into existence one day. And swindling always was in his nature,” Sif says, arching her brow at Thor.
“Sif…”
“You know it to be true, Thor, for who was most often the unfortunate target of your brother’s wily tricks? You and I and our dear departed friends, that’s who, may their souls find rest in Valhalla.”
Thor shakes his head, though he knows that Sif speaks the truth. “This Loki is innocent of all the ill deeds in the past. We can’t hold him accountable for crimes he did not commit.”
Sif purses her mouth and it’s obvious she doesn’t share Thor’s lenient views. “You’re too soft-hearted when it comes to your brother. You always were.” She glances down at Loki’s sleeping form and squeezes Thor’s arm as she departs. “I truly hope he doesn’t disappoint you. Again.”
Thor’s mouth pulls into a stubborn line as he watches her go. It’s true that his past with Loki is full of barely-healed pains, but that does not mean the same has to be true for their future. He turns his gaze back on his brother and the strain on his face disappears as he watches the gentle rise and fall of Loki’s chest.
“We won’t make the same mistakes, Loki. That I promise.”